Rerouted
by misanoe
Summary: Mac suffers from the backlash of repressed emotions and ends up finding a friend in Webb. (An appearance from Harm in this chapter and the next.)
1. Chapter 1

written by misanoe  
  
***  
  
In the nearly empty parking lot of the JAG offices, Mac sat alone in the driver's seat of her parked car. It was late, the early winter night black and clear. Resting the back of her head against her seat, she stared blankly at her car's navy blue interior.  
  
Void. That was how she felt inside. There was a nothingness gnawing inside her, constantly pressing down on her- crushing her. She was suffocating in this mindless routine of her life. She woke up in the morning, took her shower, brushed her teeth and ate her breakfast. Drive to work, drive home, everyday the same people, the same things. There was no progression- her life had become as stagnant as her relationship with Harm.  
  
Another Christmas was fast approaching. Everyone would go to Bud and Harriet's to celebrate the blessings of another year together. And while she loved each individual that would be at that Christmas dinner, she did not think she could go through a night smothered by the genuine joy of those around her, a painfully forced smile pasted on her face all night.  
  
Then there would be Harm. And if the universe was moving on schedule, he would bring his latest girlfriend yet find a way to send her one long, lost, look of unrequited love, forcing her to reevaluate his feelings for her once again so she could arrive at the same damn heartbreaking conclusion.  
  
She couldn't do it again this year. She couldn't.  
  
It was 1923 hours and she was late for dinner with Harm. The thought of spending another evening in Harm's company sent a wave a panic through her body. He would talk about Laura. He would be happy. He would be hesitant. He would make her miserable. Closing her eyes she took deep breaths to calm the anxiety clawing inside her.  
  
Stop it, she berated herself. She was being silly. Harm was her friend. She didn't know how, but she would find the strength to start her car and go directly to Harm. She was a Marine, she would manage.  
  
***  
  
"I want the first flight out of here and I don't care where it takes me as long as it's far away."  
  
The women's brightly painted smile never faltered as she listened to the odd request of the obviously disturbed female Marine. Without question, she immediately began tapping away at the computer in front of her, scanning the screen with a well trained eye.  
  
"Our next flight is at 11:55pm t-"  
  
"I'll take it." Her interruption was abrupt, accompanied by a credit card and id.  
  
"Will that be a round trip or one way ticket ma'am?"  
  
Even in her state of high stress, the sensible and currently detached part of Mac's brain took time to admire the never changing expression of the attendant before her. Shaking the random thought out of her head, she looked at the expectant female in confusion.  
  
"Will that be a round trip?" She repeated.  
  
Without thinking, Mac shook her head. "One way."  
  
***  
  
Coward, Mac berated herself from the safety of her seat on an airplane flying far away from Virginia. After building up her resolve for nearly an hour, the shrill ringing of her phone snapped her out of her daze. It had been Harm and without stopping to question why, she had taken the battery out of her phone. Tossing it over her shoulder in her backseat far from sight, she sighed in resignation and started her car.  
  
She had driven all the way to his place, seen the lights through his window then continued on her merry way. Thirty minutes later she ended up in front of the closest airport still in uniform, with only her purse clutched desperately at her waist.  
  
Looking out the window, she felt a stab of guilt at the thought of her worrying friend she could not bring herself to contact before her impulsive departure. But his voice would make her falter and she would be ensnared forever.  
  
She despised herself for being pitifully weak and selfish, running because she couldn't handle the grind of life. Some strong Marine she turned out to be. Familiar childhood feelings of self worthlessness surfaced to strangle her. Digging her back firmly against her seat she closed her eyes and tried to remember how to breathe.  
  
***  
  
Webb mindlessly followed the other first class passengers being herded off the airplane. Dead tired, as soon as his body hit the plush chair he had passed out in exhaustion, waking only when a blonde attendant had gently tapped his shoulder, calling his name.  
  
Disorientated, for a brief moment he thought he was still in Russia, taking several seconds to realize he was on a commercial plane and they had just landed.  
  
His body was painfully sore, muscles aching from the harsh physical demands of his latest excursion. A fresh cut now joined the crop of faded scars littered all over various parts of his body. Dragging his bruised body through the airport, he walked the familiar path to the baggage terminal, thanking god he had finished ahead of schedule and would have time to recuperate.  
  
The strain of his job was getting to him. He was always tired now. His body was weighted down with a weariness that anchored in the pit of his soul, making the simplest tasks near impossible to accomplish with his usual expediency. His sharp mind was beginning to draw blanks every time he tried to think, making his work dangerously sloppy.  
  
If he wasn't so damn tired he would have been furious at himself for the recent catastrophe he should have anticipated and barely averted through sheer luck. If this continued, he was going to get himself killed. Dread made his throat dry as he thought of the consequences of any simple mistake. He was going to get someone else killed.  
  
Dark thoughts swimming in his head, his vision became blurry from the throbbing in his temples and he almost didn't notice the forlorn uniformed female staring blankly at the empty air in front of her.  
  
"What are you doing here?" It slipped out of his mouth harsher then he meant, but she startled him with her unexplained appearance, putting him on the defensive and making him snippier then usual.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing." If she was surprised to see him, it didn't show, and her voice sounded as dead as he felt.  
  
"You could," he shot back, somewhat irritated at her response.  
  
She didn't ask- just stood there mute, her large brown eyes staring sightlessly past him, not really registering anything at all. He took the time to study her. Her normally impeccable uniform was wrinkled, shoulders slumped with a burden he could only imagine the cause of. Whatever the hell she was doing here, she looked like she needed a friend.  
  
"I'm leaving." His voice was brusque and he knew was being an ass leaving her here, but he really didn't see why he should care. If she wanted a friend she could talk to Rabb, wherever the hell he was. His eyes darted around for a moment at the thought of Harm. Where Mac was, Rabb was sure to be a step behind. Or was it the other way. he mentally shook the thoughts of the inseparable pair out of his head. Webb had enough issues to deal with without dissecting the perverse relationship between the troublesome two-some. They could deal with their own shit; he wanted to leave the airport.  
  
***  
  
He didn't feel guilty he told himself. Tapping his foot impatiently on the tiled floor, waiting for his suitcase to come around the conveyer, he absently rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
  
He did not feel guilty.  
  
There was his bag, slowly moving towards him at the pace of a fucking snail. He was getting irritable. but that didn't always mean he felt guilty. A sharp pang attacked his conscious as he closed his eyes to the last image of Mac he held clearly in his head. He would not go back because he did not feel guilty.  
  
"Damn it," he growled under his breath as the bag finally came within his reach. Grabbing it, he dropped it on the floor with more force then necessary and stalked towards where he last left the Colonel.  
  
After several minutes he reached his destination, looking around in frustration. Where the hell did she go? Annoyed, angry and tired, he took out his cell phone and pound in a number. Instinct was moving him now, telling him something was off and refusing to let him leave with a clear conscious until checking.  
  
The phone was picked up on the first ring and he could hear the uneasiness in Rabb's voice on the other end.  
  
"Hello, hello? Mac, is that you?"  
  
In ill humor, Webb didn't bother to answer the pleas of Rabb and snapped his phone shut. It was obvious she wasn't with Rabb, and since Rabb didn't know where she was, she wasn't on a case and this little trip of hers must have been unplanned. And now he too, leaving her in a state of obliviousness, did not know where she was.  
  
Beautiful, just beautiful he remarked snidely in his head as he stormed off to search for her, all the while wondering why he bothered.  
  
***  
  
It was pouring outside. The bustle of people that came off the flight with her had already scampered to the protection of awaiting cars.  
  
No one waiting for you here, a nagging voice inside her head informed her. Listlessly she looked around, wondering what insanity had led her to God knows where without the foresight to make any kind of plans. She didn't even bring a damn jacket.  
  
"How can you be so stupid," she whispered to herself, willing herself to stop the craziness and go back to take the first flight home. But the thought of what was waiting for her there made her heart clamp painfully up inside her body, and she stood listlessly outside in the crisp cold, the wind biting her flushed cheeks as she tried to think a single coherent thought.  
  
Staring at the floor and contemplating her one option, she only heard the sound of a car door being slammed shut, not noticing the person in front of her until a warm jacket was thrust towards her hands.  
  
"Here."  
  
Looking up, her eyes widened at the sight of Clayton Webb in a three piece suit minus the jacket. The jacket he was now expectantly holding out to her. There must have been a look of bewilderment on her face that made his jaw tighten in exasperation. Snatching the jacket away from her, he deftly pulled it around her shoulders.  
  
"It's cold, let's get in the car."  
  
Walking to the curb in front of them, he opened the backseat door to a dark car and turned towards her waiting for her to follow. Mac briefly recalled his earlier abrupt departure and wondered why he was still here. Standing still in front of the door, his face was unreadable, intelligent green eyes focusing intently on her face waiting patiently for a decision.  
  
She had two options now. Go back home to Harm, or follow Webb. Webb must have seen something in her face that gave away her thoughts, a small trademark smirk appearing as she finally made her way towards him.  
  
Getting in, she was immediately enveloped in the warmth inside the heated car. Sliding to the side so Webb could follow, she let her tense body relax against the soft leather seat. She closed her eyes and heard the door shut a moment after a comforting weight settled in next to her.  
  
The car shifted and Mac could feel the vehicle slowly accelerating as it got onto the road. Webb didn't offer any conversation and for now, she was thankful for the silence. A calm that had eluded her for months steadily crept inside her and she sighed with relief, enormously glad she hadn't gone back.  
  
For years now she knew where the road with Harm led. Her love for him chained her on the road to self destruction. And as time went by, the knowledge choked her, filled her with a resignation of the inevitable. Someday he would unknowingly suffocate her and she would willingly let him.  
  
She didn't know why, how or where Webb was taking her. The only thing that mattered was the euphoria that filled her lungs with the sweetest air as she took that first step away from Harm onto the unknown.  
  
*** 


	2. Chapter 2

For the first thirty minutes, the car ride passed by in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the tireless drumming of raindrops splashing against the car, and the muffled squeals of the windshield wipers scraping furiously back and forth across the front window.  
  
Mac rested her head against the cool glass of the passenger window to numb the throbbing in her head. An aimless weight seemed to drift over her eyelids and she fought a loosing battle to keep them open. Her eyes closed against their own violation and to maintain consciousness, she strained her ears to concentrate on the soft sound of Webb's even breathing.  
  
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.  
  
The repetitive pattern became a soothing lullaby and before she realized her own breathing was beginning to mirror his, she was fast asleep.  
  
***  
  
God, what was he doing and why was Colonel MacKenzie sitting next to him in his car?  
  
While he didn't expect an answer, he did continue to steal discreet glances at her in complete befuddlement, wondering how on earth he got himself in these situations.  
  
At the airport, it had been his simple intent to one; scour the vicinity, two; find her, and three; send her back home intact- end of mission and onwards home after a hard day of work. As missions went, it really was astonishingly simple. Unfortunately, he hadn't factored in his damning sporadic bouts of human compassion.  
  
And she wasn't supposed to look so shattered.  
  
After searching for that familiar green for twenty minutes and calling her cell phone three times, he figured she was gone and no longer his problem. There was only so much he could be expected to do for Mac, and already he had gone above and beyond his definition of the call of duty.  
  
Ten minutes later, settled in the comfort of his car and on his way home, a small annoying and persistent voice inside his head insisted he check the visitor pick-up one last time. Instructing his driver to turn around, they slowly toured the drive through and like an answered prayer, there she was.  
  
The cool resolve he had for sending her packing wavered at the sight that greeted him. Standing alone outside in the cold, her face was blocked by strands of dark brown hair that fell over her eyes like a curtain. Her arms were crossed tightly into her body and she looked like she was trying to disappear into herself. The confident JAG attorney he knew was no where in sight, and he knew if he sent her home right now, he wouldn't be sending her back whole.  
  
Therein lay his dilemma. His self-appointed mission had been to send her back intact, regardless of whether he received her that way or not. That was the problem with quickly born, half assed plans with little to no deliberation or intel, too many possible outcomes. And Webb didn't like to leave things to chance. It wasn't his style. Let the Harmon Rabbs of this world go charging blindly into the thicket, the luck of the foolish seemed to steer them to safety.  
  
Sometimes it amused him at the lengths his mind would go to ignore his infuriating moments of weakness, at that moment, it did not. Shaking the random thoughts that cluttered his head, he got of his car and winced at the dramatic temperature change.  
  
It was cold. He was cold. And if the shivering was any indication, she was cold- really, he didn't see why they should linger outside engaging in pointless conversation. Silently shrugging out of his jacket, like the gentleman his mother taught him to be, he relinquished his warmth to Mac.  
  
When she looked up and met his eyes, she looked bewildered, and for a moment she just stood there, his jacket hanging loosely over her shoulders, the sleeves fluttering distractedly in the wind as her dark eyes captured his with its intensity. The raw vulnerability, so foreign in her face, was suddenly too intimately painful for him to read.  
  
Breaking their eye contact, he stepped back and turned his back on her to walk to his car and give her time to compose herself. Opening the back door, he stood next to it extending a silent invitation, carefully studying her now reserved face while wondering what or who she was running from.  
  
His eyes were drawn to her mouth as she unconsciously licked her chapped lips and glanced behind- beyond the glass doors inside the warm and brightly lit airport. Then her eyes darted nervously back to him with the desperation of the hunted. She was looking for something, something she wasn't finding in Virginia. It never once crossed his mind he had what she needed, but at the moment, he was sure she saw him as the lesser of two evils.  
  
Apparently he was right. The indecision written clearly on her face lasted only for an instant before she made her way to his car.  
  
A bump on the road jarred him out of his reflections, and instinctively he glanced at the female beside him. She was asleep, her head resting awkwardly against the window and seat. Idly he wondered if he should reposition her head on his shoulder to use as a pillow, immediately dismissing the idea as more hassle then he was willing to endure. It felt too much like something Rabb would do and the thought of touching her with such an easy familiarity made him uneasy. She was a marine, he figured a sore neck was a discomfort she could live with.  
  
Shifting away from her, he averted his eyes to the window. The car was starting up the foot of a hill now, the smooth pavement turning into a narrow uneven road that slightly jostled the individuals in the car. A few more turns and they would be at his house. They- the word sounded alien in his head.  
  
The headache that had ebbed away on the drive over was steadily returning and he was having trouble focusing on a comprehensive course of action. It wasn't until they pulled into his stone driveway that he realized, for better or worse, he now had a marine on his hands.  
  
Grimacing he massaged his brow with his fingertips, turning his head ever so slightly to look at Mac. It hurt too much to think so he leaned in a bit, ready to wake her.  
  
His hand paused before it touched her shoulder, and he hesitated at the picture before him. At his instruction, the driver had gone in before them, and now his presence was sorely missed by Webb.  
  
Had his driver been there, he might have been a bit more discreet instead of blatantly contemplating Mac's sleeping form.  
  
Had he not been alone, he might have had enough control to stop his fingers from tentatively brushing strands of silky dark hair away from her face.  
  
Had he not been so tired, he would have never been so weak to allow himself to think her beautiful.  
  
***  
  
"Wake up Mac."  
  
Sarah MacKenzie was roused out of her dreams from the sardonic voice of Clayton Webb calling her name. Groggy, she tried to shake the haze of heavy sleep off her mind, too drowsy to register the expression in Webb's face as he wordlessly watched her.  
  
His back was leaning against the car door as humanly far from her as possible, his mouth contorted in a self mocking smirk that couldn't quite hide the defeated look in his eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

_*Dedicated to Lee S., whose email greatly (a)mused me*_

***

The calm was oppressing.  

Not for the first time that day Mac gave a long suffering sigh. Sitting alone on a tasteful leather couch complimenting the décor of the library, she thumbed through the third dreary and extensive volume on the history of the Roman Empire. 

How could a man with such a voluminous library not own one piece of mildly entertaining fiction, anything with no educational value? She dolefully studied the heavy book, a lead weight pressing down comfortably on her lap. The cover was a dark mossy green, the title engraved with dull gold letters. Deliberately she traced the imprinted letters scrolling across the front, enjoying the feel of smooth leather underneath her fingertips. It really was beautiful- elegant and difficult to decipher, no doubt a reflection of its owner.

Another deep exhale broke the stillness in the room and she gave up all pretense of reading. What was she doing? Why was she here? Restless, she chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating her situation for the umpteenth time while asking the real question that continued to plague her.  

How did life become so unbearable?

She had been happy, content with her life. Now the peace from satisfaction evaded her and all she was left with was the pain of that loss, the sorrow of knowledge, but mostly, a helpless rage that consumed with its righteous fury for the security that had been rudely snatched away. Ignorance is bliss and she mourned deeply from these new sets of feelings that un-relentlessly attacked her with its cruel edges. 

The constant silence was going to end up killing her. It allowed these thoughts to creep unbidden into her head and take permanent residence. 

A thick pressure was clamping down on her chest and she forced all thoughts out of her head to concentrate on her breathing. Deep, calming breathes to soothe the steady climb of tension writhing in her abdomen.

Was this what it felt like to go crazy?

Curling up her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and propped the side of her head against the back of the sofa trying to direct her attentions to a less terror inducing subject.

In anticipation of the expected interrogation that would inevitably occur, she had prepared, as a good lawyer should, an explanation for every possible question Clayton Webb could think to ask her. 

What she hadn't anticipated, was Webb. 

Webb, who didn't seem to have the need to feign interest over her bout with irrationality. 

For a spy he was annoyingly non-inquisitive. Unless he knew something she didn't- she wouldn't put it past him. Who knew the inner working mechanisms of Webb's inhumanly perceptive brain? Once again she considered his anomalous behavior four days 6 hours and 37 minutes ago. 

_"Wake up Mac." _

_His voice was curt, an indefinable emotion laced in his features as he waited for her to shake off the bleariness typical post sleep._

_"We're here." Opening his door he stepped out of the car before she could get a word in, striding purposely to the front doorway of a well built home nestled between several large trees. _

_"Where is here?" Mac couldn't help herself from asking, curiosity made her briefly forget her anxiety and she stepped out of the car to contemplate her surroundings. They were in secluded hills normally reserved for wealthy homeowners- surrounded by a wilderness that gave the house the lonely air of isolation._

_"Far enough," was his caustic reply. _

_Mac nearly smiled at Webb's enigmatic answer. "Do you ever just answer a question?" She asked, right behind him as he pulled out a compact key holder to unlock the front door._

_"No." Pushing down on the handle, the heavy door opened to reveal a large brightly lit hallway. _

_Mac had to quicken her pace to keep up with Webb who seemed to be in an impatient hurry. Striding up a flight of stairs and down another hallway, she barely had the time to scrutinize her surroundings before he stopped in front of a door and turned expectantly towards Mac. _

_"This is the guest room." _

_Slowly Mac twisted the slender gold handle, the scent of lavender tickling her nose in greeting as she pushed opened the door. The slight sound of shuffling alerted her of Webb's intended departure and hastily she turned around to stop him before he could disappear. "Webb-" instantly she hated the uncertainty she heard in her voice as she called out his name. _

_His back was turned to her ready to leave. Pausing at the sound of her voice, he smoothly intervened before she could continue. "Don't worry about it Mac." With that dismissive comment, he continued on his way, following a corner out of view._

And she hadn't seen him since.

Where the hell was Webb hiding and how was she supposed to find him? Ignoring the small voice in her head asking why she was so insistent on dragging Webb out of his self imposed exile, the marine in her was tempted with thoughts of taking the direct approach- knocking down every damn door in this house until she found her elusive spook. 

Webb could be annoying. Webb could be an ass. Webb could get her in the oddest situations, but Webb knew her and oddly enough, she trusted him. That wasn't to say she didn't think he would ever manipulate Harm and her again for one of his covert ops with his 'classified' motives, or once again, thrust them into a dangerous situation for some secret 'need to know' purpose. But Webb was Webb, and if there was one truth consistently apparent of his character, it was his strong sense of national duty that forced him to focus on the bigger picture instead of the individual pieces. While she didn't always agree with his tactics, she knew he did what he felt he had to, to get the job done. And a part of her respected Webb's careful diligence to his chosen profession and cause.  

She trusted him to be truthful when there were no ulterior motives at play. The problem with Webb was you never really seemed to know when he had an ulterior motive. 

A stray hair tickled her cheek and she absently rubbed the offending area with her shoulder, her hands still secure around her knees. 

The house was big, beautiful and painfully still. The vaulted ceilings created large empty pockets of air filled with thick tension that snaked down her throat to poison her with each involuntary inhale. Wherever she went, an eerie silence followed, smothering her with its oppressive quiet. The first few days she welcomed the inactivity, and now, she had never felt so alone. 

She was beginning to believe a person could die from too much space. 

The sudden turn of thoughts made her restless, and a quick spurt of energy brought her to her feet so she could pace around the room like a caged animal- or in her case, marine. Dubiously she glanced at the door that she knew lead to a wide corridor, indecision written on her face as she made up her mind.

*** 

In his study she caught him unguarded, and for an instant saw surprise mingled with something darker, his eyes conspicuously straying over her body with a desperate hunger that knocked the wind out of her lungs.  

It only took a second for him to recover himself and a curtain of indifference fell over his face so quickly to make her wonder if she really saw anything at all. 

"What are you doing?"

She hesitated, insecure at what suddenly felt like an invasion of his privacy. 

"I was wondering if you were still here." 

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying her with an intensity that burned everything it touched. "Why would I leave?"

"I haven't seen you around-" she answered lamely, biting her bottom lip in chagrin. Her throat became dry as she saw his eyes absently flick to her mouth at her unconscious gesture. 

His jaw tightened and he abruptly turned, breaking all eye contact. His back now facing her, he stiffly stood at a window to peer outside at some unseen point.

"I thought you'd like some time to yourself." 

"There's only so much time a person can spend alone," she answered wryly, glancing around the dimly lit room with a slight frown. "It's a big house for one person," she remarked. "Is it yours?"

"My mother's." 

Mac began to wander around aimlessly, studying the personal objects in the room in hopes of better understanding the clandestine man before her. Her gaze was drawn to several decorative silver picture frames, dully gleaming from their perch on the mantel. Moving forward to take a closer look, she stared at the photo in the middle and nearly snorted when she recognized the serious golden haired child smirking up at her. 

"Sometimes I wonder Webb, if you were born with a suit on." 

She could hear a hint of wry amusement in his voice. "Private schools tend to enforce strict uniform codes." 

Continuing her study of the picture, the sudden desire to learn more about Webb impelled her to continue their conversation. "Private school?" 

"Only the best." Coming out of anyone else, his words might have sounded like a brag, but Webb's detached tone made her realize he was on auto pilot, answering with a blunt honesty that made her wonder what his mind was really focused on.  

The sudden ringing of a phone interrupted her before she could ask her next question and instantly Webb was jolted out of his rooted position, a brief look of relief flashing over his carefully controlled features. 

"I have to get this-"

Mute, she nodded, motionless as Webb left her alone with her thoughts in the empty room.  

***


	4. Chapter 4

***  
  
They were getting really good at this, these stilted conversations that contained no depth. Sometimes it was frustrating, he was an expert at evading personal inquiries and there were times she felt she knew less about him now then she did before. While he rarely was so direct to completely disregard any of her questions, many of his answers were vague and he seemed particularly fond of the single word reply.   
  
-What are you reading? -Newspaper. -How are you doing? -Fine. -How's the weather? -Cold. -Would you like some coffee? -Yes. -Do you want me to change the channel? –No.   
  
Though their conversations were hardly earth shattering, Mac found their small talk inexplicably soothing and looked forward to the random moments he would appear out of thin air and walk in on her reading or watching TV, to noiselessly sit down and keep her company. He seemed to understand her need for companionship and the time they spent together was for the most part, pleasant. Quickly they settled in an odd routine that confused with its unexpected easiness.   
  
Setting the table with knives and forks, she waited for Webb to unpack their dinner.   
  
"Thank god for restaurants or we'd both starve," he commented as he walked in the dining room with two plates of steaming food.   
  
"I can cook," she feebly volunteered, figuring she should at least posture as a considerate guest for the duration of her stay.   
  
Webb stared at her oddly, the corner of his mouth rising in bemusement. "No you can't."   
  
She would have rebutted but he was right and she was hungry, so she sat down and started shoveling rice in her mouth. After her first bite, she paused and looked at him in defiance. "I can cook." She insisted.   
  
There was a pained expression on Webb's face as he considered the idea. "Please don't."   
  
Mac laughed and shook her head in mock exasperation. "Do you have to be so mordant?"   
  
He shrugged, cutting his chicken with a robotic precision. "Everyone needs a hobby."   
  
"And you excel at yours," she answered.   
  
"I do what I can."   
  
Sitting at the table sharing dinner and interchanging idle conversation poking fun at the other, Mac was suddenly struck by how cozy they must have looked. The thought tickled her head and she suddenly pictured them as a married couple.   
  
Mr. and Mrs. Dysfunction, they'd be called. Her inherently suspicious, cynical CIA spy husband and his needy, emotionally stunted, marine lawyer wife- what a pair they would make. Saving the world by day and eating take out by night.   
  
She must have been considering the subject for some time for Webb to cut in and nod at the half empty plate before her. "Are you finished?"   
  
Shaking the thoughts of spies, lawyers and marriage out of her head, she attacked her food with a renewed vigor. "I'm a marine, Webb. We don't leave our food behind."   
  
Busy devouring her food, she barely caught the rare unguarded smile on Webb's face as he looked at her with a startled affection.   
  
***   
  
_The constant inactivity in the house was enough to disturb the dead. In every room she crept, the virtual stillness attacked her, choking her brain with the underlying tension heavily saturating the stagnant air in the empty house.   
  
It had been like this for days since mother left, her father locked alone in his bedroom keeping company with Jack Daniel to drink away his sorrows. The few times she saw him were the tense minutes he ran out of the house, ignoring the large brown eyes silently watching as he tore recklessly out of the driveway, bringing back only more mind numbing liquid.   
  
After two days she gathered her courage, squared her shoulders resolutely and ended up in front of his room. Her first rap against his door was barely loud enough to rouse him out of his drunken stupor. Only silence greeted her and cringing, she tried again, this time her hand curled in a tight ball, a little harder, steadier.   
  
There was a small thud then the dull thumps of his erratic footsteps as he stumbled towards the door. A sudden attack of anxiety stole her breath as she heard the small resounding click of his lock being turned. Gritting her teeth she swallowed nervously and crushed the apprehension in her stomach to look up at her father's expectant face.   
  
His eyes were dead, the face that peered down at her a mixture of belligerence and confusion as he tried to process her image in his inebriated mind.   
  
"Dad?"   
  
Staring at her for a moment, he frowned. "Sarah?" Her name on his lips sounded heart wrenchingly small, foreign.   
  
She wanted to scream at him, tell him it was his fault. He did this, he deserved it. But there was a deep unbearable ache in her soul that cried for the shattered stranger in front of her. Sarah gritted her teeth to keep the tears from falling- she would not be weak.   
  
"It'll be alright," Joseph MacKenzie mumbled when he saw the broken expression on his daughter's face. Leaning forward, his arms wrapped around her tentatively in an awkward hug. "We'll take care of each other, okay."   
  
Her heart must have broken in that moment and with abandon she desperately clung to him, the force of her sobs shaking her body.   
  
With a rare show of anguish and tenderness, he rocked his daughter tightly in his arms, mumbling incoherently in her hair. All she could hear with his hoarse, grief stricken voice, the wetness of their tears staining her cheeks as she cried for her mother- her father- herself. _   
  
  
  
Mac was blind when her eyes flew open. Sometime during the night she had kicked the blanket off her bed and her body was suffused in a thin sheen of sweat from the intensity of her unpleasant dream. Steadily, her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she could faintly see sinister shadows hovering over her in the black room.   
  
  
  
_Sarah constantly swallowed the polluting silence clinging to each invisible particle in the air. It tainted her mind, thoughts, soul-   
  
She was drowning._   
  
***   
  
It was deep into the night when Mac ambled blindly down the stairs, trying to stay in motion and keep her painful memories at bay. Robotically brushing a strand of brown behind her right ear, she thought it odd she would dream about that distant memory now. It was too real- each detail set perfectly in place to flood her system with an influx of forgotten memories.   
  
  
  
_Stupid, tramp daughter,_ his cruel voice rang clearly in her head.   
  
  
  
_"Eww, this is burned," Sarah whined, poking the food petulantly with her fork. "It's not burned, it's well done." He was laughing at her, eyes bright with mirth as he received her glare.   
  
  
  
Ungrateful, whore. No wonder she left you.   
  
  
  
"Have you done your homework?" She looked up at her father, hovering over her as she sat casually on the couch, her legs draped over the arm rest as she watched the television.   
  
"Err, yes?" He looked at her, raising an eyebrow as she grinned at him ruefully. "I did most of it." She admitted.   
  
Grabbing the remote on the small coffee table, he clicked the TV set off. "Hand it over, smart girl."   
  
  
  
He was drunk. He was laughing. He was slurring obscenities at her as he battered his fists against her locked door. Her back was meshed to the corner wall in her room, eyes glued to the door as she prayed it would hold against his furious assault.   
  
  
  
"I'm leaving and I won't come back." She screamed at him, leaving the door swinging furiously on its hinges as she ran out of the house. She was angry but she wanted him to stop her. She almost believed he would, so she hesitated in front of his house, reluctant to leave the only father she'd ever know.   
  
He followed her, his face impassive, arms crossed tightly against his chest as he stared at her from his fixed position at the doorway. His voice was careless, dark eyes filled with apathy as he said those last words that seemed to follow her forever.   
  
"What makes you think I'll ever care?"_   
  
  
  
He always knew which words would cut the deepest.   
  
Her hands clutched the smooth polished railing, knuckles unnaturally white as she dug her fingernails painfully into the unrelenting wood. She felt a wave of nausea rise up in her stomach at the myriad of emotions her reminiscing evoked.   
  
So many years had passed since then- why now, fragmented memories to rip her to shreds.   
  
  
  
_There was a look of infinite softness in his eyes as she looked up briefly from the dishes, to catch him staring at her from the dinner table. The warmth of the sun poured through the kitchen window to cleanse her soul._   
  
  
  
She touched her fingertips to her cheeks in surprise. She was crying.   
  
***   
  
She had somehow come full circle yet nothing had been resolved, just deeply repressed.   
  
Mac felt a strong sense of déjà vu wash over her as she stared at that inviting bottle of whiskey. This was how it had been that first time, the pain cutting so sharp she ended up skulking around some man's house to filch his alcohol in the middle of the night while he laid fast asleep.   
  
But this was where the similarities ended. The house she was now in was as different from her former dwelling as its owner was from her father. Clayton Webb and Joseph MacKenzie, two men on opposite ends of the human spectrum.   
  
Even the alcohol they kept was evidence of the dissimilarity between the two individuals. Johnny Walker Blue Label, a far cry from the cheap five dollar whiskeys her father stored in his cupboard. It would be so smooth- a deep rush of longing flooding her brain as the bottle beckoned her.   
  
What the hell. Mac reached for the drink. She always did like the clink of the thick glass neck connecting with the edge of the cup- the gurgling of the liquid as it was being poured. Drink in hand, she paused. The air in the room felt different and her senses were tingling. Turning around, the wane light of the pale moon trickled through the bay windows, dimly lining Webb's silhouette. He looked at ease in the dark, his shoulder perched against the entrance of the study, green eyes trained on her face.   
  
Mac looked at Webb- really looked at him.   
  
"You know." It wasn't a question.   
  
Webb gave a slight nod, still leaning against the doorway, unfathomable eyes studying her face. "I do."   
  
Of course he knew, why wouldn't he. "Is it standard CIA procedure to check the background of JAG personal," she asked, not without a trace of bitterness.   
  
"It was a precaution."   
  
The room was silent as Mac studied his imperturbable figure, wondering what else he knew. Melting ice toppled to clink against the glass and her eyes were instantly drawn to the forgotten cup she held. Mouth dry as cotton, she absently scraped her bottom lip against the blunt edge of her teeth.   
  
"Are you going to try and stop me?" Her hand was unsteady and the amber liquid sloshed around on the side of the crystal whiskey cup, glinting wickedly up at her with a sweet promise.   
  
He remained where he was and made no move towards her. "No."   
  
Mac's smile was humorless. "He would."   
  
"I'm not Rabb."   
  
She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard him mutter `thank God' after that last statement and this time her smile was real.   
  
"Would you like to join me?"   
  
Webb's eyes never strayed from hers. "Do you want me to?" His tone was impartial and there was something in the way he looked at her, that made her believe he would leave if she asked him too.   
  
"Well you know what they say; the first sign of alcoholism is drinking alone." Though her statement was meant to be sarcastic, there was a slight wistfulness in her voice that made her realize she didn't want to be alone.   
  
He tilted his head slightly to contemplate her words before taking a cautious step towards her, giving her the chance to change her mind. Her face set, he seemed to come to grips with his own internal struggle and the tension in his shoulders gradually relaxed. Leisurely he strolled towards the bar, grabbing his own glass to pour himself a shot. A small smirk on his face, his sardonic remark lacked any mean spirit to be truly hurtful. "Did you learn that in your eight step program?"   
  
She gave a slight chuckle, welcoming his characteristic tendency to make wry observations at the most inappropriate moments. It eased the tension in the room and she was glad he didn't feel the need to pet her ego. It lent their odd situation a sense of normalcy she desperately needed to maintain.   
  
Without hesitation she brought the glass to her lips, downing the contents with one swift tilt of her hand. Mac sighed in content at the burning tingle rushing down her throat, reveling in the slow burn that consumed her body.   
  
*** 


	5. Chapter 5

***  
  
Well this is just dandy, Webb berated himself. Why don't I just drink with her? That'll stop her from reverting back to old habits.   
  
Webb looked at Mac, trying to decipher the emotions fluttering behind her solemn face. He told her he wasn't going to stop her from drinking- why? While he knew she was an adult and sobriety was her choice, there was no doubt in his mind that downing shots of scotch was a serious breech of AA protocol.   
  
What he would give to have another alcoholic who knew the standard recommended procedures in dealing with a former alcoholic about to swan dive off the wagon. Terrorists he could deal with, marine on the verge of a breakdown… he sighed.   
  
Stop her, let her- although from the look of set determination on her face he was certain he was in no position to 'let her' do anything. There were no words he could tangle together that would deter her from her decision. The only thing that left him was force.   
  
Webb eyed her figure. He could take her... oh god, what was he thinking?   
  
She was right. The thought came suddenly to him as he stared at her from his safe corner. Rabb would stop her. He would look at her with one of his patent and nauseating 'do the right thing' stare and she would shy away from the alcohol with a guilty smile on her face, mentally thanking her dear friend from preventing her fall.   
  
Well it was highly unfortunate for all parties involved that Rabb wasn't here to grace them with his presence, leaving only the ill prepared Webb, who was having more then a little trouble stepping into the golden boy's shoes.   
  
Though Webb had many a times been on the receiving end of that 'look', for the life of him he could not contort his face to mimic that annoying expression. Who was he to tell her what the 'right thing' was?   
  
If she had a failing, it was her own. He wasn't her baby-sitter nor did he have any wish to fill that position, regardless of what 'he' would have done.   
  
Webb quietly watched Mac gulp down the liquor, keeping his eyes on her through the bottom of his own glass.   
  
***   
  
Why wasn't Harm here right now, Webb asked himself once again. Rabb always seemed to pop out at the most unwelcome opportunities, typically in the middle of one of Webb's well thought out and complicated operations, so where the hell was he now? Self serving bastard, Webb muttered under his breath.   
  
An hour had passed since they shared that first drink together and Webb quickly picked up another interesting fact about Sarah MacKenzie. Drinking was a sport she took very seriously. There are drinkers, and there are drinkers. For a reformed alcoholic, she had a mind boggling tolerance. Webb suspected if he tried to keep up with her, it wouldn't take long for her to drink him under the table. And he didn't care to try. As it was, this moment was surreal enough for his taste.   
  
The lawyer and the spy staring at each other over a coffee table with a bottle of scotch between them; The lawyer and the spy sitting in the dark, staring at each other over a coffee table with a bottle of disappearing scotch between them; The lawyer and the spy whom had yet to exchange a word, sitting in the dark, staring at each other over a coffee table with a virtually empty bottle of scotch between them.   
  
Well this was uncomfortable. He was debating the benefits of awkward silence as opposed to awkward conversation when Mac finally spoke.   
  
"You barely touched your drink," Mac started, her eyes narrowed in on his half empty glass.   
  
"I'm not a big drinker," Webb curtly replied. He paused, "I'm a spook, Mac," he began again. "That tends to make me wary of substances capable of lowering inhibitions."   
  
Mac nodded her understanding. "I guess that means no Novocain for you."   
  
Webb's answer was humorless, "For surgeries that require anesthetic, I'm sequestered in the company's medical facility to protect national security. A precaution, should I decide to start rambling off state secrets to anyone interested enough to listen."   
  
Mac blanched. "That's very pervasive. Do you ever consider quitting? Working somewhere that doesn't leak into every facet of your life."   
  
"No." At Mac's frustrated glare, Webb explained. "Semper Fidelis, Mac." His shrug was nonchalant. "I'm inextricably tied to the company. I could no more quit being an agent then you could quit being a marine."   
  
"Point taken," Mac nodded. She paused, contemplating the perplexing character of Webb. Cold, ruthless, intuitive to her needs- he was a contradiction wrapped up in a cryptic riddle she was no closer to solving today then she was seven years ago. If anything, over the years he only grew more enigmatic. "Why do you do it Webb?" she asked, trying the direct approach.   
  
He looked at an invisible speck on his spotless wall. "The reasons change. And I do get great benefits."   
  
An answer, but not really. "Such as privileged information of JAG officers?" she couldn't help but offer.   
  
He smirked, "All in the name of national security."   
  
"I wouldn't dream otherwise," her voice implied otherwise. "What do you know, Webb?" Mac asked, something she had idly questioned in her head since he recited her measurements so many years ago.   
  
"Enough." He seemed reluctant to clarify, almost bothered of her reaction if he were to start listing off the lurid details of her dysfunctional life.   
  
"I'd like to know," Mac said. She looked at him, wondering how deep his well of information flowed.   
  
"I can't stop you from asking," he answered, leaning casually into the seat, arm draped carelessly over the back of the couch. "Shoot."   
  
She took a moment to admire his cool. He always managed to look at ease in any situation- always controlled. "Tell me the truth," she started.   
  
He raised an eyebrow, "As much as I can." His face was closed, frustrating her attempts to read him.   
  
His answer didn't surprise her. She hadn't expected him to agree. "Don't lie to me," she amended, hoping he would give her that.   
  
Webb looked at her, stared straight into her pleading eyes then averted his gaze. "I won't," he finally agreed.   
  
And she believed him. Now that she has his word, she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her mind had become as blank as the expression on his face. What did she expect him to say? What did it matter how much he knew about her life? She mentally snorted. Who was she kidding, of course it mattered.   
  
"Favorite food, favorite drink," her smile was rueful, "discounting the one I have in my hand, and the name of my childhood pet," Mac started off easy, testing the waters like the first round of Jeopardy.   
  
"Beltway burgers, raspberry ice tea and are you referring to your beagle named Beth, or the mutt you found and named Simon?"   
  
She looked at him in awe. Webb was good. He knew things about her that Harm could barely remember after their eight year friendship. "You probably know my social security number," she joked after a pause. Instantly she caught Webb's wince and became indignant, "You do know my social security number!"   
  
"628945528," he listed to her horror. "But don't worry, you're credit report is safe with me," he added with a touch of irony.   
  
"Is that supposed to comfort me?" Mac asked. She sighed at the blank expression on Webb's face. Uncomfortably, she turned her head to the side to ask her next question. "Can you tell me why she left?"   
  
"There was another man." Mac froze at his unhesitating answer. She had always suspected but it had never been a certainty until this second. However, it was his next words that sent her mind reeling. "And your father was abusive."   
  
Oh god- Mac tilted her head down and closed her eyes, "Did he ever abuse me?"   
  
"Not physically."   
  
He didn't know enough, he knew everything. "Bastard," Mac ground out between her teeth, wrapping her arms defensively around her waist as though her heart was exposed. "How long have you known?"   
  
"Before I met you," Webb answered coolly, unapologetic and infuriating. "And some of it," he hesitated for an instant, a brief flash of indecision on his face before he continued, "after I met you."   
  
"Why?" She refused to look at him.   
  
"I was curious," Webb sighed. He waited for her to face him, his clear green eyes steady and invading. "I've invested time in you and Harm, I don't like to be in the dark."   
  
"It's my personal life."   
  
"I know," he replied.   
  
"You invaded my private life," she repeated.   
  
"You're right. I did," he answered curtly. "And I've done it countless times to various people. It's my job."   
  
Her voice was snide as she continued with her next question. "Maybe you can tell me what she was thinking when she left me with him?"   
  
"All I have are facts, anything else would be speculation."   
  
"Or a well educated guess," was her biting reply. "You do that a lot Webb, don't you? It's your 'job' to trample over people on a hint of a guess." He looked away, the genuine discomfort on his face jolting her out of her shame induced rage. "I'm sorry," she said, somewhat forcibly.   
  
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."   
  
"It does," she countered, this time her voice truly apologetic. "You've been- a friend." The words felt funny in her mouth in connotation with Webb but the moment she said it she knew it was true. "A good friend."   
  
Any discomfort Webb might have suffered seemed to have doubled on Mac's last comment. "If you drink anymore you're going to suck the glass right up," Webb said, finally breaking the silence.   
  
Mac looked down in surprise to find the glass in her hands. She had forgotten her drink.   
  
"It's not enough anymore, is it."   
  
He only voiced what she already knew, but now, in the open, she felt a deep despair crush her. No amount of alcohol would bring him back. A sudden urge of unfounded anger flooded her mind. She was beginning to feel like she was riding a rollercoaster of emotions. Happy, sad- she closed her eyes in anger. Why did he have to be so right? Her eyes were a little too bright as she laughed, carelessly throwing out her next statement in the air. "It must be nice," she retorted, "to always be so sure about everything."   
  
"Some would say the same of you," he answered casually, reminding her of the persona she left at home.   
  
She looked at him. "Not if they saw me now." They both fell silent.   
  
"Everyone has a breaking point. Even you."   
  
"What's yours?"   
  
"I don't know," he honestly replied. "I plan to never find out."   
  
Mac coughed out a laugh, "Of course. No time for Mr. Spy to get in touch with his emotions."   
  
"You're assuming I have emotions," he remarked dryly. "I'm not always sure," he continued, serious. "But in my line of work, you have to learn how to pretend."   
  
Mac looked up to stare at Webb, searching for an invisible crack. She furrowed her brows. "You're so afraid of loosing control."   
  
"I know," he stated.   
  
"It must be lonely," Mac said, blatantly staring into his face. "To never be able to open yourself up."   
  
"It is," he answered, returning her gaze. "But I've been fine up to now."   
  
"Which is more then me I suppose," she replied. "Who am I to give you advice." The empty glass glinted up at her and she gave a long sigh. She leaned against the back of his couch, propping the back of her head on the backing's edge to look up at the ceiling. As the alcohol began to infiltrate her blood, her thoughts became fuzzy and harder for her to keep under control. "What am I doing?"   
  
"Mourning?" he offered.   
  
She looked surprised at his suggestion.   
  
"Did you ever deal with your father's death?" he asked.   
  
She could have lied to him.   
  
"I didn't think so," thin lines creased his brow. "Did you ever talk about it with anyone? Rabb?"   
  
"No." She looked down, suddenly very tired of conversation- life.   
  
"A week after his funeral you were off to the next case. Hardly enough time to mourn," Webb said almost gently, without a trace of recrimination. That was one thing she noted of Webb, he didn't judge.   
  
Harm had once told her the scanty details of Neville Webb's disappearance. She paused, hesitant to broach the subject but wanting to know, "Did you deal with your father's death?"   
  
"Yes," he said plainly. "I wouldn't have been able to go on if I didn't."   
  
The burning in her stomach faded away, leaving her light headed and with the courage to ask the question that mattered the most. "Do you know about my father after I left?"   
  
"No."   
  
She looked down, disappointed.   
  
"What did you want to know?" he asked.   
  
"Nothing- everything?" her sigh was resigned. "Did I love him?"   
  
Thoughtfully he eyed her. "I think you did."   
  
"He died without saying a damn word." Her eyes were burning, "Sometimes I think the bastard did it on purpose. Just to get that last shot in. Then I think I must be horrible person to think about my blood like that." She paused, building up her will to speak of that one painful memory. "And there were the scraps- the pieces of me he kept by him. He was proud-" she might have started crying then.   
  
From somewhere Webb produced a fresh handkerchief and offered it to her. She almost laughed through her tears at the initials embroidered neatly in a corner. "Who carries a handkerchief?"   
  
He grinned. "It leaves no prints."   
  
Mac did laugh. "There were times I wanted to kill you Webb and now-" she stopped, very conscious of the foreign waters she tread in.   
  
Wisely he ignored her lingering remark.   
  
"This isn't about Harm, not all of it," she told him. She wanted him to understand- needed him to know she was more then Harm. For Mac, pain stemmed deep, before her first husband, before Harmon Rabb, Jr., and before Clayton Webb. She bled, but she could not find the cut.   
  
"I know," Webb solemnly answered. Mac smiled. Somehow, she felt he really did understand. This knowledge comforted her more then the warm burn in her abdomen. "We all have our own demons," he muttered, awkwardly averting his eyes from hers.   
  
Bracing herself on the armrest, she hoisted her body up and carefully treaded towards him, unsuccessfully trying not to stumble. He watched her, eyes wary as she took a seat next to him on the couch, carefully maintaining a small distance between them. "What are yours?" she asked.   
  
Her eye lids were becoming heavy and her vision hard to focus but she could hear the wry smile in his voice. "That's classified information."   
  
Mac frowned, stifling a yawn. "It's your turn, you know." She stretched her legs in front of her, staring at nothing in particular as she continued, "It seems like you know everything there is to know about Sarah MacKenzie. And she has yet to find out the favorite color of Clayton Webb." Her body felt like liquid and she melted into the cushion, her mind and soul weary beyond words.   
  
"There's not much worth knowing," Webb stated.   
  
Mac sighed, "Somehow I doubt that Clay."   
  
He waited for several minutes before speaking, his voice low. "Truthfully Sarah," he honestly continued, "I can't see how anyone could leave you." He thought he saw a wisp of a smile on her face as she slept.   
  
***   
  
Mac opened her eyes to a tall glass of water and a bottle of aspirin laying next to her on the side bed stands. More surprising, however, then her lack of a hangover or the fact that she was laying comfortably in a bed, was the face that anxiously hovered over her bed.   
  
"Harm?" Mac blinked her eyes in confoundment, bolting upright to look at the sheepish pilot in confusion. "What are you doing here?"   
  
Rabb stepped aside to reveal Webb.   
  
"You brought him here?" There was a shrill note of disbelief in her voice, "Why?"   
  
Webb shrugged uncomfortably under her questioning eyes. "God knows," he muttered, wincing as Rabb spotted the top of the dresser filled with his framed child hood photos. He sighed then looked straight through Mac's fake smile. He leaned in close enough to kiss her, eyes dark under his furrowed brows, "Settle this Sarah. You've been hurting long enough." Moving stiffly, almost against his own will, he cupped her cheek in a hand and pressed his lips chastely against her forehead. It happened so quickly before she could think to say anything, the last she saw of him was his back through the swinging door. She sat still in shock, eventually hearing the distant sound of a car starting in the driveway.   
  
A nervous cough caught her attention. She turned her head to stare at the interruption.   
  
"How are you, Mac?" Harm offered lamely.  
  
*** 


End file.
